


sweetheart (i'm your boss)

by the_chaotic_lesbian



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Linhardt von Hevring, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Soft Porn, Top Caspar von Bergliez, gratuitous use of petnames, lin is feeling sad so caspar cheers him up, the softest thing I've written and its porn, vague mentions of chronic fatigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_chaotic_lesbian/pseuds/the_chaotic_lesbian
Summary: “Let me prove it to you.”Linhardt blinks. And then blinks again. “What?”Caspar’s eyes are shining, and he sits up leaning over Linhardt with a familiar determination, “let me prove it to you. How perfect you are.”“Oh,” and Linhardt flushes red, “Caspar, that really is not necessary-”“But I want to!” And then Caspar’s straddling his hips, arms keeping himself upright, staring down at Linhardt. “So can I?”And he’s giving Linhardt those puppy dog eyes of his, and he swallows. “Okay.”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Linhardt lets the words of certain classmates get to his head. Caspar helps.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	sweetheart (i'm your boss)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be writing soft ashenette for a mini bang and yet here I am, writing casphardt porn. this is the softest thing I've ever written, honestly. 
> 
> title from natalia kills "mirrors". I wrote this while listening to nothing but natalia kills, love her.
> 
> many thanks to biz my casphardt partner in crime as well as many many others.
> 
> enjoy!

“Linhardt, is something wrong?” 

Caspar’s never been the observant type, and so the question catches him off-guard. Linhardt hums, turns to glance at his boyfriend. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t know the answer. He thinks he’s fine. He should be fine. Why isn’t he fine? 

And then he thinks about his latest conversation with Annette, how she scolded him. He thinks about Edelgard, disappointed about his lack of effort in the war. Dorothea, chiding him for his coping mechanisms. Linhardt’s never been the type to be self-conscious, but it’s all too much now. 

On top of that, his father had written him for the first time since this goddess-forsaken war had started. He was not happy about Linhardt’s non-decision to support Edelgard, and blatantly told him that if he didn’t change sides now, he’s as good as disowned. 

Not that he was planning on taking on his title anyways, but still. It stings, hearing it from his father straight up. 

Oh, right. He still needs to answer Caspar. He shakes his head, focusing on his book. “Nothing’s wrong Caspar. Why do you ask?” 

He hears the soft patter of footsteps on the dorm carpet, and then Caspar’s standing over him, head pressing on top of Linhardt’s, hands rubbing at his shoulders. It’s such casual affection, and once Linhardt would’ve shoved him off, but now he sighs, leaning into it. 

“You’re acting weird,” Caspar says, declaratively, “and I haven’t seen you leave your room in awhile. When’s the last time you ate anything?” 

Linhardt thinks about it, shrugs. He can’t really remember. Hunger pains are nothing to him, not when he’s constantly swallowing down nausea, constantly shaky and exhausted. He can’t really feel much of anything, honestly. It would scare him, but he’s never particularly cared about how he feels. 

Caspar always has cared enough for the both of them, anyways. Even now, he frowns, and presses his thumb lightly into Linhardt’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” 

He’s gone for only about five minutes, which is thoroughly impressive. Linhardt doesn’t move from his book, though he’s not really reading. No, he’s thinking about Annette, her tone as she proclaimed him beyond lazy, the anger in her eyes. He thinks about Edelgard, chiding him for using none of his intelligence. 

That stuff doesn’t bother him normally. He’s always been good at brushing off harsh comments. But, like he told Dorothea, sometimes you run out of places to run to, and though he should be happy right now - well, as happy as he can be, during this damned war - he’s not. 

_ Lazy. Cold. Useless.  _

_ Shut up Linhardt.  _

When Caspar returns, it’s with the sweet buns he likes, and he presses two into Linhardt’s hands. There’s not much he can do to argue, so Linhardt slowly eats them, pushing his book further up on his desk so as not to leave crumbs across the pages. 

“Okay. Now will you tell me what’s wrong?” Caspar fiddles with his hands, almost nervously. “I know I’m not the brightest, but you’re hiding.” 

“I am not hiding,” Linhardt says, offended. Well, not quite offended. He could never actually be mad at Caspar. 

Caspar huffs. “You are! You’re doing that thing where you sit in your room for days and do nothing but sleep and read. You only do that when something’s bothering you.” 

That’s far more accurate than Linhardt was expecting, and he blinks. “Wow. I didn’t realize you had me so pegged.” He sighs, rubbing at his head before standing. It’s not like he's going to get any reading done, he might as well lay down. 

Caspar follows him, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Linhardt collapses, head resting against the pillows. 

“Seriously, Lin, what’s wrong?” Caspar frowns, and it’s not a pretty look for him. “Did someone say somethin to you? I’ll fight them!” And that’s more like his Caspar. It’s enough to draw a small smile out of Linhardt, and he chuckles, cracking one eye open. 

“Nothing’s the matter, Caspar, honestly. Nothing I can’t handle myself.” 

“So there is something wrong then?” Caspar pauses, and then scoots in, draping himself over Linhardt. He presses a light kiss to Linhardt’s cheek, fondly. 

And really, there’s no keeping anything from him, so Linhardt sighs, allowing Caspar to grab his hands. “I was just thinking,” he admits, hesitantly, “about some stuff that some people have said. To me.” 

He’s not expecting Caspar to put pieces together, that’s never been Caspar’s forte, but Caspar frowns, playing with his fingers. “Whatever they said, you shouldn’t believe it.” 

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “Caspar, you don’t even know what they said.” 

“I don’t have to!” and Caspar presses another kiss to his cheek, and then drags his hands up to his lips, brushing his knuckles. It’s oddly intimate, and Linhardt shudders, sucking in a breath. “You’re wonderful, so whatever they said that hurt you, it’s wrong!” 

“You’re sweet, Cas,” Linhardt shakes his head, “but I don’t know…” 

“Let me prove it to you.” 

Linhardt blinks. And then blinks again. “What?” 

Caspar’s eyes are shining, and he sits up leaning over Linhardt with a familiar determination, “let me prove it to you. How perfect you are.” 

“Oh,” and Linhardt flushes red, “Caspar, that really is not necessary-”

“But I want to!” And then Caspar’s straddling his hips, arms keeping himself upright, staring down at Linhardt. “So can I?”

And he’s giving Linhardt those puppy dog eyes of his, and he swallows. “Okay.” 

Caspar beams, and then he bends down and kisses him. 

They’ve kissed so many times over the course of the war, but somehow this one feels different. Caspar’s lips are sweet, addicting, and his hands rub against Linhardt’s sides, brushing underneath his shirt. And goddess, they’ve been intimate before, but it hadn’t felt like this. 

Linhardt breaks the kiss for air, and Caspar uses the opportunity to move downwards, kissing at his neck. He lightly nips at the skin there - not hard enough to bruise - before kissing it in apology. Linhardt sighs, leans back against the pillows. 

“Do you know how pretty you are?” Caspar tugs at Linhardt’s robes, and Linhardt wriggles around, helping him take them off. “Goddess, Lin. I don’t know how anybody could dislike you. You’re so perfect.” 

“I’m not-ah,” Linhardt’s cut off by fingers tracing over his chest, rubbing at sensitive skin. He can practically feel Caspar smirk at the way he whines, falling back into his bed with a sigh. 

Caspar bends down, fingers hooking around the waistband of Linhardt’s pants and sliding them off as well. He’s tugging off the final remaining garments when he begins his gentle kissing again, pressing feather-light kisses across Linhardt’s chest. 

“You are perfect,  _ sweetheart. _ ”

Linhardt sucks in a breath at the petname, and he curls his hands into his blankets, “call me that again,  _ please. _ ”

Caspar hums, and he continues kissing downwards, mouth brushing over one perk nipple. It’s so sensitive, and Linhardt shudders, sighing. 

And at this point, he’s already hard and aching, exposed to the air once Caspar’s hands manage to pull his undergarments off. He’s not sure if he’s ever been so turned on in his life, not even when he was still stubbornly pining for his best friend, desperate for affection. 

Caspar trails kisses down his abdomen, and then further, trailing down and down and down. He pauses right before getting  _ there,  _ glancing up at Linhardt with adoring eyes. “Is this okay?” 

Linhardt groans. “Caspar, if you don’t touch me, I think I might die.” 

Caspar laughs, and then he dives back down. Fingers brush the base of his dick, and then stroke, and lips press to the head of his cock. It’s so soft and tender and Linhardt shivers, sighs. His hands dig into the blankets, resisting the urge to grab Caspar by the hair. 

Caspar takes his sweet time, pressing kisses to Linhardt’s cock, and it’s not enough. It’s sweet, goddess it’s sweet, but it’s not enough, and Linhardt arches his back, trying to convey that without words. Caspar has always been dense, and it’s torture now. 

“Cas,” he breathes, and he clenches the blankets, shivering again as Caspar kisses again. “Cas, please-” 

Caspar pulls away, gives Linhardt those eyes - those fucking puppy dog eyes - and smiles before closing his mouth around the tip of Linhardt’s cock.  _ Finally.  _ Linhardt sighs, a tired moan in the back of his throat. 

It doesn’t last for long, though. Caspar pulls off far too quickly, lips smacking together in a way that should not be as endearing as it is. Linhardt whines in protest before he can stop himself, pouting at Caspar. 

“Shhh,” Caspar leans back up, kisses him. It should be weird, tasting himself on Caspar’s lips, but he hardly notices, melting into the kiss. It’s soft, and only lasts a couple of seconds before Caspar pulls away again, staring down at Linhardt with the fondest look in his eyes. “Goddess, you’re so good for me Lin. So pretty.” 

Linhardt feels a hand wrap around his cock, and he whines again, wanting so badly to arch into the touch. It’s still much too light, but it’s something at least. Caspar’s watching him with a weird look, something akin to lust in his eyes. It’s foreign, but not unwanted, and Linhardt swallows under that gaze. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” And goddess, that name feels sinful coming out of Caspar’s mouth right now.  _ He remembered,  _ Linhardt thinks, and goddess, that felt so long ago that he asked,  _ begged  _ for that name to be used. “Am I not taking care of you?” 

Linhardt sucks in a breath, wondering where his words went. Just minutes ago, he was fine, but now, with Caspar gazing down at him so seriously, so intensely, he’s speechless. It doesn’t help when a thumb presses against the head of his cock, playing with the foreskin. 

“Cas,” he says, swallowing, “please.” He conveys as much as he can into the words, blinking up at Caspar. 

“Okay.” And then Caspar’s kissing him again, passionately, his hand tracing up and down his cock, and the angle is awkward but Linhardt sighs anyways. Caspar tastes salty, with a hint of the peach cream he must’ve had for dessert earlier, and it’s an interesting yet addicting combination. Linhardt hums into the kiss, moans when Caspar fists his cock with a new passion. 

It’s too much, and also entirely not enough, and Linhardt pulls away from the kiss, gasping for air. “Caspar… Cas,  _ please.”  _

“Shhh.” Caspar pulls away, withdrawing his hand again, and Linhardt’s ashamed at the way his back arches, searching for that touch. He could look up and find his loving, wonderful boyfriend, but he doesn’t, keeping his gaze trained on the ceiling until Caspar returns. 

“Beautiful,” Caspar whispers, hardly audible, and Linhardt feels the cold, slick finger run over his asshole, massaging at the muscles before just hardly pressing in. It’s still enough to make him gasp, and he finally cranes his neck enough to look at Caspar. 

Goddess, Caspar. 

He’s lost the rest of his clothes after disappearing, revealing tanned skin and muscles, and Linhardt’s mouth is dry at the sight. Is he salivating? Goddess, that’s embarrassing. It would be embarrassing, at least, but there’s something so satisfying in the knowledge that this man is  _ his _ , beautiful muscles and everything. 

He allows his gaze to wander downwards, stifling a quiet moan as Caspar’s finger slides in to the first knuckle, twisting. He can see Caspar’s cock, visibly straining, beading with precum, and he licks his lips.  _ Later.  _

He stifles another moan when Caspar adds a finger, lightly scissoring, and he hears a huff. “Lin. You have such a pretty voice. Can I hear it?” And damn, when he asks like that… 

“If you-  _ ah,  _ \- if you insist,” Linhardt sighs again, as Caspar bends down to press kisses to the inside of his thighs, trailing them down his legs. It’s horribly intimate, and he  _ loves  _ it. 

Then Caspar’s fingers curl, and it hits something inside him, and Linhardt moans, the sound filthy to his own ears. Caspar pauses his ministrations, gaze flickering up to Linhardt, and he smiles.    
  
“You really are so pretty,” and then his fingers curl again, and Linhardt’s back arches, eyes closing as he releases a long whine, “so pretty, sweetheart.” He adds a third finger, and the burn stings but isn’t entirely unwelcome. Linhardt swallows, hands curling tighter around the blankets. 

He whines again when all three fingers disappear, and then Caspar leans over him once again. Linhardt has just blinked open his eyes, staring half-lidded at his amazingly wonderful boyfriend, who still looks so fond and adoring. 

“Cas-” he tries to say, but Caspar kisses him before he can actually say anything, hands tangling in his hair for a moment. It’s entirely out of place for where they are, and Linhardt aches to be touched. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Caspar pulls away after only a couple of seconds, and then he’s reaching up to press a light kiss to his forehead, hands caressing his shoulders. 

“I love you,” he says, softly, “I love you so much Lin, sweetheart-”   
  


“Cas, I swear, please,  _ please- _ ” 

Caspar chuckles, and his tip of his cock brushes against Linhardt’s ass, and even the slightest contact makes Linhardt shiver. He wants to do something with his hands, but he’s helpless to do anything more than pulling at the blankets. One day, next time, he’ll return the favor, but for now he just inhales sharply as Caspar finally pushes in, whimpering in the back of his throat. 

“You good?” Caspar asks, breathlessly, once he’s fully seated. He’s on his knees, and the angle is wonderful but the lack of any contact is painful, and Linhardt tries to show this, reaching one hand towards him before it falls back to the bed. 

“Good,” he breathes, and he stares at Caspar, strands of hair falling in his face. “Wanna…”    
  


“What do you want?” Caspar’s voice is almost teasing, and he rocks his hips experimentally, eliciting a small gasp. “Come on sweetheart, use your words.” 

And that’s entirely unfair, using  _ that petname  _ while asking him to speak, but Linhardt musters up the words. “Wanna touch you.” It’s not quite as eloquent as he’d like, but it’s enough. 

Caspar hums, and he adjusts positions, now leaning over Linhardt, just low enough that Linhardt can reach his hands up, run them against Caspar’s muscular chest. He can’t muster the energy to keep his arms outstretched for long, though, so instead he grabs at Caspar’s hand, drags it to his hair. 

Caspar tilts his hips, his pace languid and slow. It’s relaxing in a way, and Linhardt sighs as the hand he has pinned to his hair strokes the locks softly. It’s soft, and fond, and he desperately wants more but he can’t bring himself to ask. Not when Caspar is treating him like a prince, being surprisingly gentle. 

His face must be horribly red, and Linhardt gasps when Caspar angles himself just a little better, nails his prostate. He keens, and he can hear Caspar’s little grunts and moans a bit more clearly now, slowly becoming more and more vocal. 

“Cas, please,” and the amount of times he’s said that phrase tonight is far too embarrassing. Still, Caspar smiles, the arm he’s using to keep himself upright shaking as he angles himself again. Linhardt moans, free hand clenching the blanket, the hand over Caspar’s squeezing. 

“That’s such a pretty sound,” Caspar says, and he almost sounds like he’s talking to himself, stating a thought. He pauses, and then his pace quickens, becoming something slightly more brutal, something closer to what Linhardt is craving at this point. “Make it for me again, sweetheart?” 

Linhardt tries to reply, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a long keening whine, his back arching against the bed as he tries to meet Caspar’s thrusts halfway. “Please,” he says, finally, the word breathless and airy, “please, please,  _ Cas. _ ” 

“Hmm?” Caspar slams his hips against Linhardt’s, and Linhardt cries out, squeezing Caspar’s hand desperately. It’s almost enough for him to see stars, he’s so  _ close,  _ and he starts babbling about it, trying and failing to vocalize his desperate need. 

And Caspar’s red-faced as well, tiny pants and moans escaping his lips, and it’s hot, and Linhardt weakly reaches up to caress his face before another particularly rough thrust brings his arm right back down to the bed. 

He’s so close. So painfully close. And then Caspar’s hand in his hair disappears, and Linhardt almost tries to grab for it again, before fingers close around his neglected cock and pump/ 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Linhardt gasps as he comes, writhing back onto the bed in pleasure. He’s all but sobbing, pressing his eyes closed as he trembles. For a minute, he can’t feel anything, but Caspar stops moving, and once his hearing resumes he can hear Caspar’s breathy whine. 

A couple minutes pass, and Caspar pulls out, sliding into the bed next to Linhardt with a dramatic sigh. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, tiredly, and he leans over to press a kiss against Linhardt’s forehead, sweet and gentle. “How was it?” 

And it’s so Caspar to ask such a thing. Linhardt laughs, and then yawns. Goddess, he’s so tired. Not as though he did anything, but still. 

“Perfect,” he sighs, and they really should clean up, but he can’t muster the effort to say so. Instead, he turns his head, presses it into Caspar’s bare chest, closes his eyes. “You’re perfect, you know.” 

He can feel Caspar blushing from here, and then a hand strokes his hair again, wrapping around his back. “I love you, Lin.” 

Linhardt smiles, nuzzles into Caspar’s chest with a sleepy yawn. “I love you too.” He pauses, so tired, before continuing, “and thank you. For that.” 

He’s not thinking about the harsh words anymore. It should have never bothered him in the first place. Caspar loved him, and really that’s all he needed. 

He can feel the smile against his hair, Caspar humming in fondness. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” And goddess, the use of the petname now makes Linhardt blush, grateful that his face is hidden, “I just want you to be happy, Lin.” 

“Well, you succeeded.” Linhardt yawns again. “I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight.” 

He hears a laugh, and then he’s drifting off. 


End file.
